


Short Story Collection

by ASockAndEt



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:27:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29235291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASockAndEt/pseuds/ASockAndEt
Summary: A collection of one-shots that either stand-alone or based off ideas I'm working through. If context is necessary, I'll add some at the beginning of chapters.





	1. This Dude's Gotta Get a Hobby Already

Somehow the light pink of the setting sun had quickly faded into a dying orange. All I did was lay on the river bank without a thought to pass the time. So just when did all that time pass me by?

If I keep laying here, soon enough the murky darkness of night will come and so will all its troubles. What a pain. I don't want to get up.

"I have to get up and then walk back home. That's gotta take like twenty minutes at least if nothing happens. And did I have to buy groceries? What did I need? I have to think about that before I even get up..."

I just mumble to myself as a breeze wanders past, rustling the tall grass around me. Being here was supposed to be relaxing but isn't it just stressful to leave now? What a waste of time this was.

I even accelerated my schedule just so I could spend the afternoon without a care in the world but here I am not even wanting to leave. Man, did I just have too good of a time or what?

I didn't have to think about any assignments or coworkers. Not even what I was going to eat when I got back or that I have to do the laundry tomorrow!

Just a nice relaxing, don't-gotta-think-anything session.

Ah, seriously, I can't do this again or I'm gonna just laze around all the time.

What did I need to pick up from the store? It was...

.....

..........milk and beer?

Ahh, I'm just gonna get back home and find out I missed something like cheese or eggs, aren't I? Whatever, I just gotta get up and going.

As the setting sun disappears beneath the horizon and the stars descend, I get up and start walking to the convenience store. I got all up in arms if something was going to happen but I do live in a pretty safe neighborhood. It should be fine and all but, just to be certain, I look around as I walk.

Just the usual quiet alleys and side streets. Yup, no need to go out of my way and see people on the main streets. That's just encouraging a fight or a conversation or a salesperson trying to chitchat me into buying stuff or just bumping into any kind of person. What a waste of time.

Although it's also a pain for the walk to take so long and I have to deal with the smell of trash too. Sometimes wild cats walk by and just hiss at me. Why can't you just run away like the other stray dogs and birds...

By the time I exit the convenience store, it's fully dark and the street lights have winked on. Even then, there are plenty of dark spots all along the main streets. Of course, the alleys are dark too and bound to be the meeting place for all kinds of seedy exchanges. Geez, now I gotta walk down the main streets and hope I don't come along anyone.

At least it's a quiet neighborhood. It's one of the reasons I moved here. I spent all this effort finding a place not only decently close to my university by bike but also to a grocery store, a second-hand bookstore, and a river but also safe and quiet too. I did end up in a place that's mostly rented out by the elderly and small families so none of my neighbors have anything in common with me, but who cares? Rent's good and if I wanted friends I wouldn't have come here. What a pain.

...And here's another pain.

All I did was walk down the street -the main street even!- and there's already a fully-grown, _adult_ man just hassling a teenager probably coming back from the store like me. Yeah, I can see the Chicken Convenience bag in his hand.

Man, what a waste of time.

I walk quietly and kick the soft underpart of the adult man's knees. Whatever stupid threats he was uttering gets cut off with a startled yell followed by a groan of pain when his uncovered knees hit the hard pavement. Without giving him time to turn over and say a single swear, I go ahead and kick him again so he falls back to the side, sprawled out on his stomach. Finally, while he struggles with both the pain and the confusion, I place a foot firmly on his neck.

The man finally gets it and stops struggling, instead trying to strain his eyes far enough to get a look at my face. So I flip my hood over my face.

"Hey," I say to the kid still idling by, jaw fallen open in shock. "You gonna leave or what?"

He flinches when I talk to him but when the words finally get across, he stutters out a "t-thanks!" and then barrels out of here like a madman.

Well, not a bad idea. I'd better dash out before the bug under my foot gets enough time to point me out to a cop.

As the air is hurtling past me and my breath is coming along harsher than I'd like it to, I'm thinking maybe fighting wouldn't be too bad of a hobby. I don't think about any troublesome stuff but I do just enough thinking to take care of business. Not so bad, is it?

But... and I'm wheezing by the stairwell that leads up to my apartment just three doors down... fighting too much would just cause trouble in the future, wouldn't it? I don't have the money for hospital fees if I get seriously hurt too.

Ugh, I should just go to the gym instead then. My sides fucking hurt.


	2. Monsters and Words

Context: This takes place after the ending of a story I have yet to write but is also meant to be a stand-alone piece. It isn't perfect so I recommend taking everything that occurs at face-value and not spending too much time wondering what's happening and what did happen.

\-----------------------------------

Night is the time for monsters.

_Actually, any time is the time for monsters._

So there isn't a particular reason for Charlotte to curiously peer outside her bedroom window. First, because it doesn't matter if there is a monster waiting outside to gobble up her and her older brother. Second, because nights in the countryside are too dark to see shit.

Especially on a cloudy night like this where even the radiant full moon and twinkling stars are drowned out. If she were paranoid, the total darkness that greets her eyes wouldn't soothe her fears at all! But the 28-year old woman sees that nothingness and smiles.

_Oops, I keep forgetting how dark it gets at night! I really need to remember that porch light._

Charlotte laughs quietly and pens up a little reminder on her desk. In high spirits, she hums and wonders what to do next. There's a reason she went to check the window but she isn't sure what.

Maybe it's the excitement of moving? After all, it's just shy of a week since the two siblings moved to this peaceful countryside house. It was a completely unnecessary move like one of peaceful retirement despite the two being just 28 and 32 respectively. Well, however illogical it is, the two have been living in illogic since the day Charlotte was born. The two have had to make up their own fun along the way. Besides, the price for this house was a steal!

And anyways, the two are almost all moved in! Just about the only place left unpacked is the kitchen and that's just where Charlotte decides to head. Gotta get rid of this energy somehow, right?

Moving through the hallway, she passes by her brother's room. Charlotte peeks her head in, wondering if Elliot has the time and energy to help her out. It'd make the process so much faster and a lot less boring if she had a buddy!

But her older brother is already conked out in bed, laying atop the covers. Charlotte's high spirits dim a little, a slight frown on her lips. In between all this packing, unpacking, and his web design work, Elliot must have been so busy and exhausted. She leaves the room after covering him with blankets from his closet.

As Charlotte descends the stairs, the thought strikes her. An old memory resurfaces like a scar that never faded away. Maybe it isn't _excitement_ but that **sixth sense**. Is it her old instincts at work again, a nervous energy that always has her feet bouncing one way and her thoughts darting another?

This is why Charlotte can never be so sure. These days, she's grown numb to the old alarm bells. Yes, that's right. She's living a **peaceful** existence all thanks to that **incident**.

That's why, when Charlotte steps onto the cold tiled floor of the kitchen, the sight of boxes piled up in twos and threes greeting her, she stops. She smiles.

_A monster is coming tonight._

And Charlotte quickly gets to work, opening up the first box with a sharp knife. What appears before her eyes are the rest of the utensils and cutlery, all wrapped up carefully in white paper towels and crinkling old newspaper.

 _Elliot definitely wrapped these up!_ She begins undoing his work, creating a pile of trash and placing clinking handfuls of spoons, forks, and chopsticks in the utensil drawer. She hums while setting up the knife block and sliding in each knife carefully. When the box is finished off, she sighs.

_Why do we have this many forks when it's just the two of us? Maybe we went overboard living in that apartment!_

It's tedious to unpack but Charlotte's lips twist into a toothy smile. After all, she's surrounded by happy memories not only from the items in these boxes but all around this house too. That downtown apartment they moved from was the siblings' first taste of true freedom and they'd relished it without abandon. If Caterina hadn't appeared before her, tail whipping from side to side, mischievous grin looming large, she may never have escaped the cage of her late parents' house. In a way, the devil had been her savior and still is as her boss today.

Charlotte tears open another box, pulling out wrapped-up plates. _Everyday since has been too much fun._

They had lived by a prosperous city center. She still remembers the first look at that plaza: the roar of the extravagant fountain; the neon lights standing out even in the morning light; the rows of bookstores, arcades, and theaters, and more as far as the eye could see. It was one thing to see a sea of people from afar but it was exhilarating being a part of it for a whole day! It was almost as fun as going on a job outing with Caterina.

For two siblings to give up a crazy fun life like that, it does seem strange to up and move away to a quieter country life.

But the countryside, in Charlotte's eyes, would be just the same with different sights to see, different things to do, and different places to explore. She could see the starry sky at night now, or go splashing around the river, and a picnic on the nearby hills sounds like a great idea! And if that isn't enough, she's sure Elliot will get antsy and take her along for a car ride to check out the nearby town's stores, museum, and library.

This is what life is like when they're _no longer haunted by monsters and words._

Charlotte places the last plate in the upper cabinet and nods to herself, satisfaction radiating from her being. Yes, a nice and peaceful life. She doesn't regret taking **Caterina's deal** at all despite turning into a monster herself. Or is she technically superhuman now?

Well, it doesn't actually matter because she isn't going to become a superhero or anything. The only thing she cares about now is that **everything becomes delicious.**

By complete coincidence, the next box she opens up is some of Elliot's baking tools: his mixer and baking pans. Charlotte sets these on the counter so Elliot can decide where to put them later. Her brother hasn't baked since they came here but he did promise to bake after they finished moving in... what will he make? Chocolate-covered donuts? Walnut-sprinkled macarons? Maybe he'll even bake a raspberry and apple pie or tiramisu! If she's lucky, she'll get to taste-test too...

Ahhhh, Charlotte has to tear open all the boxes and unpack straight away! How else is Elliot gonna bake if he doesn't have his tools?!

...

Although she got all excited, this is still a lot to do on her own. Charlotte definitely won't be finished any time soon. All she can do tonight is whittle it down a few boxes and leave everything else to Elliot. Ah, she's already helped out in all the other rooms and the kitchen is her brother's domain anyways. Yup, yup, that's about all she can do right now!

As she works, Charlotte doesn't have anything else to occupy her mind but her thoughts. In winter, it's curiously quiet with just the river nearby to break the silence. The only other sounds echoing through the kitchen are the crinkles of newspaper, the clinks of metal, and her own quiet humming. It's a peaceful time and it remains so even when there's scratching at the backdoor.

Charlotte doesn't stop humming as she ponders what could be out there. In recent years, the number of visitors have almost dropped to zero. The only time she sees one is at work now.

 _Well, if it does come inside, I'll just_ **eat it.**

So Charlotte listens attentively. Whatever she hears next will decide the visitor's fate. And the words do come to her, shaking, exhausted, and quiet as they come.

"Please... feed... me..."

She smiles.

That's right. There's still half a turkey in the fridge that Elliot cooked yesterday. She was going to finish it off tonight but hm... alright, it'll do. She'll just have to make a dozen cheese sandwiches instead.

The process that follows is extremely simple. She takes the cold turkey out of the fridge **and chucks it out of a window.** She's not going to bother warming it up or politely opening the backdoor. _It's just a wild beast after all._

Immediately after slamming the window shut, she hears the muffled scrabbling of claws on the back porch. There's the muffled sound of grass shuffling before Charlotte covers her ears. Unfortunately, the gasping and wet, crunching noises of teeth through cold flesh and bone still resound through the kitchen. Hmm, that's disgusting!

_Must have been starving. If I left it alone, it might have been dead on the back porch tomorrow morning._

Good thing she fed it then! Even she wouldn't wanna eat those remains.

"It's a pity you didn't." Behind Charlotte comes a deep voice, still entrancing as ever, like the baritones of a violin singing a ballad. She turns around to greet her boss, Caterina, dressed elegantly in a purple gown and black lace. The devil shines her ever-present mischievous grin.

"Always next time," Charlotte replies, standing up. "You haven't been by in a while, boss."

Caterina's tail begins swaying side to side as her voice responds with a self-satisfied smugness, "I thought you might appreciate time off for your move. Aren't I thoughtful?"

Charlotte nods. Truthfully, she had prepared a little speech in case Caterina hadn't been. The devil might have tried to "help out" and it wouldn't have been helpful at all. "Sorry about the mess. We haven't finished unpacking yet."

"I can see." Caterina sniffs with disdain as if her own house isn't so cluttered there hasn't been a single place to sit every time Charlotte visited. "Humans treasure too much."

Charlotte doesn't reply. She smiles.

That's how it is when you live a life no longer haunted by monsters and words.


	3. Do You Know the Waltz?

AN: This is an extra for a short story I have yet to finish and publish on Wattpad. Chronologically, this takes place after that story so I've done my best to make it 'stand-alone' for now but this will disappear and be re-published in an edited version later.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I'm struggling.

_Do I sketch this kid's collar comically large or should the suit fit him to maintain this dramatic mood I've got going? And I know I should be deciding the colors soon but I need a good idea of what the piece is gonna look like. It's really going to suck if I need to change parts when I already painted some color..._

A strangled kind of sigh escapes from my mouth.

_The deadline's already this close and this is the only idea I've sketched that looks like it could be something. It feels like forever since I made any progress-_

"Charlie, are you struggling on another gallery piece?"

A familiar voice startles me out of my thoughts. I look up from the canvas and find another startling surprise outside the window.

Before I know it, the bright afternoon light without a cloud in the sky has faded into the red-orange light of sunset. Soon enough, it'll be moonlight streaming through that window instead. But someone's already turned on my bedroom lights, helpfully saving my poor eyesight (because I definitely wouldn't have noticed).

I finally look over to the only person around who could have been so helpful and asked me that question: my friend, Amello.

"Thanks for turning on the lights," I say, not answering her question at all. She simply nods and goes back to staring at me impassively from a corner of my bed. We both know I cave easy.

_Still, I didn't think I'd be so easy to coax into talking when I've got a complex this sensitive. I gotta hurry and think about how to phrase what I mean..._

Stalling, I see that she's almost finished her book on the history of beer and ask, "How's the book going?"

_I definitely gotta mention mood. But to talk about that, she needs to know what's actually happening in the piece, right? Wait, shit, does she know what the gallery theme is?_

Without hesitation, Amello drops the book (and my lifeline) out of my sight promptly. I hear a thunk on the floor on the other side of the bed. Alright, well, she is all wrapped up in my bed covers (my favorite one because it's light blue). That's one more excuse before I give up the goods (and give up trying to think): "I'd ask if you're cold but doesn't the paint on the covers feel itchy?"

They are my favorite after all and I have a bad habit of going to bed straight after painting.

Amello doesn't answer again. She only wraps the covers tighter around her and lifts her chin slightly up in a defiant gesture. The movement rustles her loose ponytail, revealing a bright orange hair band. I try to resist the temptation to veer into funny comments about her favorite color and how it doesn't match her stoic appearance.

_It's just way too vibrant for her stone face! Still, even though it's been hours, I'm happy she's still here._

It's nice to have someone to keep me company even if we aren't talking.

_But damn, it also means Amello makes me dive in head first when we have these conversations!_

"Yeah, I'm struggling!" I finally reply, throwing my hands up. "I just don't know what to do!"

_Like hell, I could literally do any other idea right now and I'd feel the same! Am I going to have to do that?!_

Amello's expression doesn't exactly change but there is a glint in her eye that's probably her feeling smug about my confession. She asks, "No idea? That's unlike you, Charlie."

_She must be thinking my problem is usually picking what idea to expand on, not trying to come up with one._

"Well, I have _one_ idea. But that's not what I meant," I concede. But her advice might help since I'm still dealing with the same overall problem. "The idea that I have just doesn't feel right."

_The mood, the message, the perspective, whether it should have people and just what kind of people if it does? Nevermind the color, I already have a hard time deciding what to even sketch._

Amello's replies are always a little slow so it leaves me plenty of time to overthink. This time, her thinking accompanies her actions which are to scoot a little closer to me, still all wrapped up in the light blue covers, and then come to a conclusion. "Tell me what you mean."

A strangled kind of sigh escapes my lips again. I just...

_Maybe this time I have an idea but it's so half-formed that I don't even know how to say it... shit, but I gotta start somewhere or Amello will keep staring at me..._

So I start by turning the canvas towards her. Hell, it looks like a finished sketch anyways! Simply, it was just a drawing of a kid in a suit trapped in a formal occasion. He stares at a piranha-like fish on the table while the adults around him either laugh with each other or dance the waltz.

I give Amello time to look it over. _Annnd I'll remain silent until she asks me questions._

Which was maybe not the best idea because it launched a kind of rapid-fire questioning.

"...The colors?" Amello asks.

"I was thinking of painting the kid and the fish a dark blue then leaving everything else white and black," I say."

_Amello is used to my monochromatic style. I don't usually deviate from it, so fair._

"What about the collar?"

_She must be asking because she spotted all the faded lines around the kid's neck. I don't know why I keep getting surprised by her sharp eyes._

Before she'd even met me, she did figure out my identity from an anonymous gallery piece I sent in just by comparing the style to a piece I'd accidentally left out after all.

"I didn't know what to do for the mood," I reply. "It's already dramatic and it gets gloomy if I add the dark blue. But it might be an interesting tone shift if I make the kid's suit oversized."

"...Do you have an idea of the message?"

I grimace at that, pressing a hand on my forehead and rubbing. I ask her, "What do you think it is?"

"...The kid and the piranha are blue like the kid will be that piranha one day?" Amello guesses.

"Yeah," I say. "That's what I thought too and I don't know if I like it."

"...But it's the core of the piece."

I don't reply and let my silence be an answer. Amello pauses now and it's longer than the previous ones. It's enough of a pause that she tilts her head while she thinks. I idly wonder if she's looking for other details to ask about or thinking over a different direction I could take. But my real thoughts are about the orange hair band again and if it's part of pack number two or three. Amello always has to buy extra packs of hair bands just because she keeps losing them.

_Damn, I might be more tired than I thought. Thinking too much is always a sign of exhaustion..._

Before I can start another line of thought (woozily, I'm starting to realize), Amello responds, "I see what you mean by 'no idea.'"

To that, all I can do is laugh. And add, "Oh, and the deadline's in two weeks."

_Though I don't have to send in a piece at all. Hell, even if I do feel good about what I make, it might not even be accepted._

Amello stares at me in what might be the most pitying stare I've seen from her yet. I almost want to congratulate her on her most emotional expression yet. But more seriously...

_I don't wanna work anymore._

The thought is like a dying cry in my heart.

_But if I keep looking at this from different angles, I might get a better idea..._

I steel my heart and ready myself for a long night of strangled sighs, crumpled paper balls, and shitty pencil sharpeners. Ugh, I can already feel how painfully stiff my back is going to be and hear how loud my joints are going to creak from being in the same position for so long.

Definitely can't make Amello accompany me for that.

So I open my mouth to send her off, but Amello beats me to the punch.

"Charlie, do you know the waltz?"

Everything about the question catches me so off guard that I reply without thinking. "Huh? No? I don't think so."

"Do you want to learn?"

Her straightforward words leave me no room for thought other than to sputter, "I mean- sure- but- isn't now a little bit weird-"

Without hesitation though, Amello unwraps herself from the light blue covers and pulls the orange hair band higher so that her ponytail's tighter. Then, standing up, she looks down on me and extends her right hand, palm up.

I don't take her hand.

"A-Are you sure there's really enough space in here?" And she really means to try this right here and now? It's probably going to be in this little space between the bed and the desk- this square of space is maybe three feet wide and two feet long at most?

Hell, I'd believe it if someone _could_ do the waltz here! But for that someone to be _learning_ it? I can just imagine bumping up against the bed, knocking into a wall, or even stepping on the sharp corner of a textbook!

_Ah, the leg of that desk chair is looking really pointy...There's no way this is going to work out-_

"It'll be fine." Amello's voice startles me again. Not in that she said something but that her voice sounds so easy and assured. When I look up at her still-extended hand then into her resolute eyes, it makes me realize I haven't asked an important question yet.

"Uh... why are you teaching me the waltz?"

"Because if you focus on something else, you won't have time to get stressed over this," Amello explains. Although her manner isn't outwardly encouraging, her steady voice makes me want to trust her anyways. "And also it was the first thought that came to mind."

_...Is it because the adults in my sketch are dancing the waltz?_

The fact that I poked Amello's subconscious is funny but trying something new seems...

"Just a short break," Amello says, "and then you can go back to sketching."

I don't reply straight away. I actually don't reply in words at all when I do make a tentative decision.

I hesitantly place my hand on hers.

Amello doesn't make a big smile or anything but I think her eyes crinkled a little like she did. It doesn't relieve my nervousness very much but it's a nice consolation prize!

"I'll lead so it's easier for you," Amello says while I stand up and we face each other in the middle of that little square of space. Over her shoulder, I see my bedroom door and belatedly realize I could have suggested a walk outside instead.

_Ah... I gotta live with my mistakes... but maybe I can just cut this off now..._

"Palms together like this and your hand goes a little below my shoulder like that," Amello continues, meeting my left palm with her right and putting my left hand around her right shoulder. Alright, well, I can't escape now. We are literally hand-in-hand.

_Already, right and left is getting mixed up in my head... I'm totally gonna step on her toes! Amellos' definitely right. I won't have time to get stressed over the gallery because I'm gonna be stressed over this!_

"Keep your feet hip distance apart and-" Just as I do that, wondering if my feet are too far apart and resisting the urge to look down, Amello suddenly stops and looks me dead in the eye. Before I can squeak out a "huh?" she says, "Relax. Trust me."

...I don't know where I've tensed up to make her say that (probably everywhere) but...

_...I've technically trusted her on scarier things so..._

I nod. We wouldn't be friends if I had gotten burnt before.

"Alright..." Amello's voice is still steady but maybe there's a little tint of something else in there too. "We won't be spinning in a circle. It's easier to do a box... thing instead. Plenty of space for that."

Amello then leads me into the steps for a boxy waltz. I stare at my feet the whole time, her voice explaining each step above me, "Remember it's one, two, three. On one, you move back with your right foot. Two, move your left foot back but keep it hip-distance from your right. Three, move your right foot next to your left. Just like that."

"Okay, I think I got it..." I nod a little, going back over the steps in my head. It all seems easy enough but we didn't actually make a box. So I ask, "So what makes this the box waltz?"

"What we did was the first half of the box. The second half is the same but instead you step forward with your left."

_Oh, so then the reverse of what I just did? That... kinda makes sense? It's probably better if I did for real._

"Ready to try?" Amello asks. I nod and try to keep track of the beat and movements.

_One... two... three... ah, shit!_

After finishing the first half of the box, I accidentally move up with my right foot instead and step on Amello's toes. Lightly though!

"Don't worry about it," Amello says, still relaxed. If we'd just met, I would have thought she was serious but it's already been a year since we became friends. I can totally hear a little laughter in the undercurrent of her voice... "Well, do you understand it now?"

"...Can we try a few more times?"

"Of course."

After the first mistake, the other ones feel a little less embarrassing. Sometimes I move with the wrong foot and step on her toes but usually I overstep and bump into the bed, stub a toe on the desk chair, or back up into the wall.

Eventually, we have a kind of clumsy but successful box waltz without missing a step for three whole boxes! When I finally do miss a step, the giddiness still overrides the embarrassment.

"Nice job. You're doing good," Amello says, eyes definitely crinkled like she's smiling.

"Yeah!" I agree and feel a little less bad about having tried at all.

"Then we can take a break here," Amello says, letting go of my left hand and taking a step back. I'm not sure if I'm disappointed that we're not trying again or relieved that I won't make any more mistakes. Amello sits back onto the corner of the bed where I had sat at the beginning of all this. While looking up at me, she says, "Well? Was it a good break?"

I'm still standing there, grin wide on my face, so my answer has to be: "Yeah... it helped that you're a good teacher."

"...You're a better student," Amello says with her eyes uncharacteristically looking away.

_...She's embarrassed!! Oh yeah, this was worth it._

I sit down next to Amello, who is reaching out for my light blue bed covers again, and think about going back to sketching. I wouldn't feel too bad but I want to keep riding this high...

_Can't believe she actually got me to stop thinking about the gallery piece even if it was just through sheer surprise and distraction._

I sigh and lay back on my bed. From this angle, just before she turns her head to look over at me, I see her orange hair band again.

"Maybe I'll wait tomorrow to sketch again," I say.

"Hm..." Amello says and then lays back next to me, a big light blue cocoon. In her usual steady voice like nothing much has happened, she asks me, "Then, do you want to know about the history of beer?"

"....Hit me."

That night ends with us talking about random things. And when the gallery opens a month and two weeks later, I already know where my piece is hung up. Of course, I'm excited that my piece was accepted but there's a different reason my heart is beating fast right now.

As we walk through the white walls and floor of the gallery, passing sculptures, paintings, and other pieces along the way, Amello doesn't notice that I am resolutely trying to keep my gaze off her. Key word: 'trying.' The reason she doesn't notice is because she's looking around at every piece, trying to find mine.

_Other people's compliments, even Amello's, don't mean a lot to me but her actions speak louder than words._

My piece is just a little further ahead. As usual, the only noise in between us is the quiet chatter of other people walking along or standing by pieces. The two of us don't say a word to each other. Amello normally doesn't talk until she's seen my piece and I don't talk because I'm just plain nervous.

We've played this dance before and it'll probably be one of our traditions until the day it isn't. I smile to myself wryly. It used to be that I cared too much about what other people thought about my work but now it's just her thoughts that matter most.

_Probably because I know Amello cares._

Just a few steps more- we round the corner into the end of a hall and there my piece is, hanging up so quietly on the left wall. The initial mix of emotions that it's even there hit me of course: the excitement, the fear, the embarrassment.

But then it's all overridden by expectation.

I know Amello is always absorbed in whatever I make. So she won't notice when I take a step back and sneak glances at her face. There won't be a change in expression of course but even so I want to see the verdict before it's handed down in words.

Maybe I'll see a glimmer in her eyes, like they're tearing up, just like the first time we came to a gallery together and she saw what might be my most favorite painting I've ever made. No, it's definitely my favorite just because she made it feel worth all the fear, frustration, and excitement I'd gone through to make it.

There isn't a glimmer in her eyes this time. Rather, her eyes scrunch up in confusion.

A flash of fear bolts through me until she opens her mouth.

"Orange and light blue...?" Amello turns her head to me. The colors that she says make me feel relieved but at the same time send my heart racing even faster.

_Oh, yeah- I broke my pure monochromatic style for this piece. But if she asks why..._

And she's already asking just by staring at me. I don't know if I could honestly say it to her face. Instead, my eyes by themselves flash to a familiar hairband in her hair and my hands twiddle with the sleeves of my light-blue collared shirt.

"Uh, well," I stutter but Amello's sharp eyes catch me right away.

"Oh, I see I made an impression on you." My face burns hot as a smug smile stretches across Amello's face but underneath the embarrassment is a feeling of relief.

_She likes it!_

Maybe this is the piece that will be my new favorite because it has her in it. This painting of a big crowd of black and white adults standing around tables or dancing the waltz. And, very small, in the upper left corner, is one kid in an orange oversized suit extending their hand to another kid in a blue fitted suit.


	4. I Don't Want to be Alone Either

Garrett presses the tip of the knife just barely into my neck. I can feel blood begin to trickle down, warm and ticklish. But my chest feels cold, a familiar sense of icy dread starting to retread its old ways through my veins, my intestines, my brain. I thought I could finally return to reality.

"You really don't care?! I could kill you right now and _you don't care?!_ " Garrett yells at me, tears beginning to bleed over the dark rims of his eyes. My brother pushes me against the cold floor of the kitchen, hands wrapped tight around the collar of my shirt, his shouts echoing through an empty house.

Everyone already left the party hours ago and it's for the best. It's just the two of us left in this old house and no one else could possibly make this situation better but me.

So I don't reply quickly. Whatever I say next must be careful. _Otherwise..._ I force myself to think while staring into Garrett's eyes that look more lost and pleading than angry.

I always did think my brother cared too much, almost like he took on my share of caring too. While he was overwhelmed by our parents' sudden deaths in a car accident, I took on the responsibility of managing their final affairs, including their funeral.

That party was my second-to-last responsibility, inviting our relatives and family friends for a final mourning before we put our parents to rest. Garrett had stayed by my side the whole time, unresponsive to any greeting or consolation.

It almost reminded me of our childhood together. Even though I was younger and he was supposed to take care of me, he always asked to hold my hand whenever we went outside and I knew it was because he was scared. I didn't know of what- still don't know -but he needed me so I took care of him when our parents couldn't.

The two of us grew up and he got more independent but every so often he would come to me, lean on me, and tell me what struggles he was going through. And even though I couldn't always help, he left my side, smiling gently once again.

I haven't seen him smile in months. He hasn't told me anything in months.

An hour after everyone had left the party, and I was putting away dishes in the kitchen, he asked me how I did any of the preparations without crumbling.

 _We all die._ I had said. _I can't care until this is all over._

And then I could finally return to reality because in truth, I was handling it by not handling it at all. Somehow, I could never bring myself to rely on him. That was always a mistake and I knew one day I would pay...

Garrett's reply was uncharacteristically rough and that should have clued me into the chaotic state of his feelings, that he had finally reached his limit.

 _What if you died?_ He'd said, voice hoarse probably from crying too much and trying not to cry at all. _Will you care then?_

I already knew it was a mistake the moment I'd thought about saying it. I don't care if I die. I had probably already reached my limit too and said something I'd always wanted to take to the grave.

Garrett... probably had always known I was always hiding something. This drastic response he has now... if he didn't want me to die, then why are we now...?

"Answer me!" Garrett screeches at me, high-pitched and desperate. I wince at how his voice dies out at the end, at how raw his throat must be now. No tears have fallen yet but his eyes look as though he's already doomed.

How did we get to this point? We used to be a happy family of four but now the parents are dead and the brother is at the sister's throat. I don't care if I die but I can't let him go to jail for my death.

_That isn't the ending he deserves._

What can I say? What am I supposed to say? I wasn't the empathetic or the supportive one of us two but I was the one _who made things better for him_. Thanks to the icy dread freezing my brain, panic doesn't set in so I need to think-

 _I do care; I'm sorry!_ Garrett always knows when I lie.

 _This isn't like you! Put the knife away!_ If I dodge the question, he might be so desperate that he does something he can't take back.

I can't lie, I can't run from this, but I can't speak the truth either. _If I died, what would happen to him-_

At this rate, we're both doomed.

When that thought registers, my breath catches in my throat. I start trembling in a way I haven't since the day after I'd heard the news and somehow found myself alone in my room with no one who could hear me. My eyes start to burn and I'm already coughing.

Garrett backs away, eyes wide, when I start to cry.

"You bastard," I finally say, snot running down my face now. "You know I don't always get what you feel. Just say it!"

Garrett blinks and then drops the knife. The tip of it is stained just the slightest bit of red and few drops scatter on the floor around it. He doesn't speak a word at first, just a blank expression like he only just now realized what he was thinking.

And when he does figure it out, the tears finally start to roll down his pale cheeks. Garrett drops to his knees.

"Don't leave me alone, Lena." His voice is almost gone now. "If you want to die, then I'll die too."

I stare at him who's basically groveling on the ground. The icy dread from before is seared away with anger. I sniff.

"Who the hell's gonna die? I'm still alive for you!"


	5. Untitled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is untitled and I'll replace the art in the future

"Just how many crossroads am I going to see? How many of them will be the same?"

"These crossroads take me across borders and highways, through the skies and seas. I walk along deserted paths and crowded ones, along paths of grass and ones of sands. I never know what to do when I am asked to walk across water."

"The worst crossroads ask me to climb staircases which seem to stretch forever into the sky, as if they tauntingly ask, 'So? Do you want to reach the stars yet? How pretty do they look to you?' "

"And the ones that take me down underground tunnels that loop dizzingly but always further, further into the ground as if to finally ask, 'Don't you think it's about time? Hasn't it been so long?' "

"Breaking free of these tunnels, walking off those staircases, doesn't mean anything. I'll always be under this sky that changes shades and changes the reality before my eyes."

"The breeze will still fly past me and my hands will always stay still by my side."

"A twilight that leaves me drunk and dazed, stuck to the sky and slowly dripping away like honey."

"A morning so bright and shimmering sapphire like a summer ocean, too bright and piercing as if filling me up with the sharp clarity of my mistakes and all the things I missed."

"A night so dark and cloudy that even the full moon can't pierce through, too comforting and yet too terrifying to be embraced by darkness with all life's uncertainties and certainties."

"It seems as though I can only be at peace with the gentle light of evening as the moon and sun cross paths, each too distracted by their love for the other to shine their 'loving' light on me."

"I can keep going unnoticed and simply doing the things that are supposed to be done and I don't have to feel like the world will end if I don't."

"I get the feeling that this is how life usually is for other crossroaders."

"And when I stand on the shore of another ocean, I wonder if I am being asked to swim instead. The questions that begin trickling into my mind start to become crashing waves themselves."

" 'Do I have the strength? What if I drown? Is it bad if I drown? How strong are the waves right here and out there? What is swimming beneath? Can I make it? Do I want to make it? Can I ever take a break?' "

"A feeling like this is not how life usually is for crossroaders consumes me. Even with countless realizations, my hands do nothing to end the journey."

"Just how long will these crossroads look the same to me?"


	6. Untitled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is untitled and I'll replace the art in the future

"I sat at a bench, staring into a little swamp at night, and I thought about making a call. A call to a service and I imagined that the person who would pick up was a grouchy, no-nonsense woman.

"Maybe she would be heading into her late forties or early fifties and she doesn't know why she's taken this job, only that she has.

"And every night she takes calls and listens to people who have been through hellish paths in life, passing by people who had done nothing but harm and yet smile, still stuck to people who have done nothing but harm and never smile.

"She has taken calls from people who have cried, who have ranted and vented, who have said not a single word and ended the call one minute later.

"Tonight, she takes a call from a young man in a quiet voice, as if speaking to no one at all and just letting his words drift into the air. And he says,

"'I was sitting here and I thought about a story. The story has a girl and she's maybe 19 or 20. I wanted her to be around my age but she's a little older because that's how it turned out.

"People don’t really accept good reasons when you’re young and I guess even I want to wait until later to say I’m tired.

"Anyways, this girl has just died and maybe she knows that, maybe she doesn't. I haven't decided yet. But I have decided that the first person she sees will be a black young man and he's going to have these big wings attached to his back. Oh, and his name's Gabriel.

"And he's going to look at this girl, who- maybe she *will* know she's dead but not how. He looks at this girl who feels cold and aimless, knowing that she’s dead and almost not wanting to know how, and he smiles.

"He knows the truth behind her death and all the important facts of her life, so we can get the ‘confession’ out of the way. He says, "You must be tired. Do you want to come with me?"

"And she'll say yes because what else is there to do but follow the angel who's come to get her?

"‘Why did an angel come get me?’ she'll wonder as they're walking along. She'll look at his huge wings that probably still aren't big enough for human flight but what angel obeys physics? And she'll wonder if this is all a trick.

"Maybe a devil's come to get her and specially made up this pure white world she's woken up in just to mess with her hopes. After all, there's nothing here but her, a bench, and a lamp pole. Super easy and it doesn't have to mean anything but what she wants it to mean.

"Waiting for a bus that’ll never come. Just stuck here forever with not a destination in mind and no energy to move.

"And the angel, he's dressed super simple. Just a white-collared shirt underneath a warm green sweater with black slacks. Very simple.

"But then she thinks about his smile. How warm and comfortable it was, how easy it seemed for him to show his teeth. And how his eyes lit up with a bright sympathy and a light reassurance.

"What hopes does she have anyways? Even if she believes in his smile and it turns out to all be a lie, the devil won't have accomplished anything. That's too bad.

"‘Why did an angel come get me?” she wonders again as they're coming up to a green door that's appeared out of nowhere. ‘Do I deserve an angel?” she'll wonder as they walk through into an ordinary-looking apartment.'

"The no-nonsense woman would probably be a little weirded out by what I was saying. Would she think ‘all writers are so crazy. Just what kind of strange scenes are filling up those empty heads? It’s even worse with this sort.’

"Or maybe she's heard weirder. She has to have heard some pretty crazy and messed up stuff. At least this caller isn't talking about attempts.

"Is he?

"I’m not.

"But I do think it’s still a little sad to have mustered up the strength to keep trying, only to fail later.

"'Something like that for the first chapter,' I would say. 'I wanted to make a story about the afterlife because the afterlife is still a life, isn't it? When I think about it, even feeling bad right now and thinking about things doesn't mean anything.

"Whatever I could learn, maybe be forced to experience, in this life... even if I tried to run or convinced myself that this was the best thing to do, there's still the afterlife waiting for me, isn't there?

"It doesn't really matter if it's kind. It will still hurt the same, the lessons I have to learn.

"So I wanted to write a story about a girl in an afterlife who finally has to say, "Okay, I'm really not okay. But I can still change. I can still be a better, happier person. And I want to be."

"And then she does. Goodbye.'

"And then I'd end the call that never existed and I wouldn't really think about the pretend woman I'd made up because I don't want to think about regrets. I always regret saying these kinds of things to anyone.

"I always regret writing stories with these subjects but they pour out of me anyways and I suppose the least that I could do is make it interesting and worthwhile and short.

"So I wonder to myself, ‘Did you have a good time? I don't know if I'll ever write that story but I'd like to.’"


End file.
